


Essential to Your Own

by exyjunkies



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, First Dates, Getting to Know Each Other, M/M, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2020-06-03 11:17:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19462870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exyjunkies/pseuds/exyjunkies
Summary: Adam is a journalist that does hard news, and takes a break from that by reading food and lifestyle blog posts. Ronan is a barista and the owner of a café by day and a famous food blogger by night. They know each other, but don’t know that they know each other.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Text conversations cheat sheet:  
> ! Ronan  
> % Adam  
> * Blue  
> $ Gansey  
> @ Noah  
> # Henry  
> ? Declan  
> ^ Matthew  
> ; Aurora  
> \ [Original character; will be specified]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Adam really wishes his job wasn’t so serious.

_Love is that condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to your own._  
Robert Heinlein

-*-

“This is amazing work. Can’t believe those asshats on the 7th floor got you making those fluff pieces for a whole _year_. I’m glad to have you with us now. This is front page material.”

Adam leaned against the doorframe, looking at his editor with a smile. Behind it was half a sense of accomplishment, half a feeling of relief. He looked down at his watch, the leather strap fraying. No matter what anybody said, he absolutely refused to get one with a steel band.

“Those fluff pieces _are_ what got me here in the first place, Roxanne.”

“Oh, nonsense. You fight the bigger fight now. That’s what’s important.”

“I guess so.”

“Now, for your next assignment, I want you to…”

Nodding as Roxanne went along, Adam used half of his brain to mentally register what was being said, and put the other half towards what he’ll be doing later tonight to de-stress. Maybe he’ll pass by the bookstore across the street and decide between a title he really wanted and a title he really needed.

 _No_ , Adam thought. He wasn’t strong enough to resist temptation right now.

The assignment had been on the current corruption case of Cabeswater Inc., an insurance company that, quite literally, promised its customers that it would make their dreams come true. The sketchiness behind this promise, almost everyone knew, was something worth being suspicious about. In what could be considered as a journalist’s ‘few weeks’, Adam had uncovered not only the rat behind the whole mess, but also every single scheme pulled to make the mess happen, as well as the string of several accomplices that had been involved, directly or indirectly. While finding out about it had been a challenge, the mechanism, when watered down, was incredibly simple: take money from those the company deemed less deserving of support, and give it to those deemed more deserving.

Maybe if the criteria used in judging people was fair, Adam would’ve stopped investigating halfway. As he found out, it really wasn’t.

To say Adam was tired would be an understatement. He actually felt like he deserved a whole month’s worth of vacation. Coupled with a ten percent increase on his next two paychecks.

“…last but not least, the culprit, of course. Can you do it?”

Wearily, Adam nodded. Another bank phishing attack. Somewhat easier to go into than Cabeswater. Less urgent, too.

Just to be sure, he asked, “No set deadline yet, right?”

“Am I trying to kill you? No. At least take the rest of the day off. I’ll call you if there’s anything important.”

Adam would’ve leapt for joy if it wasn’t inappropriate. He gave Roxanne a small salute and turned around, walking away with a little bit of a skip in his step.

The Zenith Observer (which some people called the ZO for short), now one of the leading news companies in Washington, began as a lowly corporation around eight years ago here in Seattle. Their offices, now spacious and airy with a potted plant here and there, had come from humble beginnings. Adam, from humble beginnings himself, had been present for its development for five of those eight years, and had resourcefully worked with several others to get the company to where it currently was. Now, it stood proud and tall amongst the city’s other corporate giants, a testament of what hard work bore if one kept at it. Apart from little blips here and there (and Adam had made sure those little blips had gotten _fired_ ), it remained steadfast and true to its mission: safeguarding the truth for those who need it for justice.

If he had to be honest, Adam loved his job, but he would really love it more if it didn’t successfully make small parts of him die every now and then.

He supposed it wasn’t his job’s fault, but rather, the world’s fault for being so damn evil.

Pushing the glass door to his office, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Maybe Blue would be free to hang out for lunch today.

The view outside Adam’s office, which was all the way up on the 11th floor, often reminded Adam of how important it was that he kept doing what he did. From here, he faced several other tall buildings, complete with semi-transparent glass windows and sleek colors. None of these buildings were buildings that Adam knew the name or purpose of, but were for sure playing their own parts in corporate capitalism and corruption. Down below, cars skidded by, alongside people on bikes with masks on their faces.

Indignantly rebelling against what their own bodies wished them to do: purchase a car and avoid all the secondhand smoke they could be ingesting. It’s not that they couldn’t afford cars. It’s just that they didn’t want to give in and feed into the ongoing capitalist system that way.

Adam had given in, sort of a long time ago. Still, he refused to take up too much space, and stuck to his silver Honda Jazz. It was a small yet comfortable car, one that he had gotten at thirty percent off around two years ago. Over time, he had grown quite fond of the car, as well as having to drive to and from places every single day.

It reminded him of his beat up Toyota, something that had gotten him farther than he thought he’d be. The remains of that car now sat in a dumpster somewhere, simply because Adam believe that it had fully served its purpose.

11:19 AM  
_% Wanna grab a bit to eat?_

He contemplated his next assignment. Leaning back into his velvety office chair, he thought of greedy underground moles targeting banks, uncaring about the welfare of other people. Money in small doses being stolen off of several accounts, credit card information being stolen account by account. Innocent salespeople, unaware that the money they were receiving was actually sneaked off from a middle-aged woman somewhere, someone who was merely trying to make it big.

It was enough to make Adam pissed.

11:23 AM  
_* Only if you’re eating a whole meal this time_

11:24 AM  
_* As in, not just a sandwich_

Adam looked down at his phone, amused. His temper was diffused for the moment. Blue really knew how to care for people in her small ways.

11:25 AM  
_% Okay, why not._

-*-

Because it was nearby, and because it was Blue, they had both agreed on the place of meeting-up to be Olive Garden. Adam had gotten there first, mostly because his stomach was rumbling, and the idea of a whole meal (dessert included) sounded more than good.

He motioned for a waitress to come over. He had not decided on his order yet. A part of him was sorely tempted to just tell the waitress that he’d get whatever was most ordered around here.

The waitress was already smiling down at him. Adam cleared his throat.

“I’ll have the, uh,” Adam drifted off, lost in thought. He was starving. “The mushroom ravioli, please. And some apple juice.”

“Coming right up.” The waitress took the menu from his hand.

Briefly, Adam thought he saw the waitress wink at him before walking away. He sighed, and straightened up in his chair.

“Sorry, Blue,” he muttered. “I need some food in my system.”

For the nth time today, Adam thanked his stars that he was given the rest of the day off. Being a journalist was a tiring job, in more ways than one, but thankfully Adam never challenged any of his other boundaries. He’s tried dating here and there, but afterwards, he ultimately decided that the need for companionship wasn’t something he actively harbored. Adam was likeable enough that he had friends at work, and he even had Blue, but he never dared ask for more.

In all the years he’s lived in Seattle, the most he’s done was get a dog – a golden Labrador he’d decided to name Stevie. Adam had adopted Stevie a year and a half ago, just when the ZO was slowly getting up on its feet. He had been a tiny runt, one that the pet store had almost given away to the dog cellar, if not for Adam coming in at the last minute.

_Hey, whoa, whoa, what you doing to the little guy?_

_Little is right. We’re giving him away. No one wants to give him a home. Do you need help with anything around here, sir?_

Stevie had looked up at him, small and with slow-blinking eyes, and had tugged a heartstring of Adam’s. The moment had made Adam reach into his pocket for his wallet. Which he had apparently left behind in the office.

_I’ll take him. But, uh, I don’t have my wallet on me now. I’ll be right back—_

_No need. He’s all yours._

The store owner just seemed glad enough to be rid of Stevie, and even provided Adam with a leash and a bag of dog food.

Now, Stevie was a grown dog, almost up to Adam’s hip. With proper care and a lot of love, Stevie looked a lot better than he did back then. His coat was brighter and shinier, and he had a tail that wagged vigorously every time Adam came home and greeted him. Adam’s heart warmed every time he thought of him.

 _That dog makes everything worth it_ , Adam thought to himself. _Well, almost everything._

“Adam!” Blue greeted, walking up to their table. She discreetly pulled another chair beside her and set her bag down. Adam waved a hand in greeting.

“Sorry I’m late. I brought Noah. He wanted a meatball… something.”

“I don’t mind.” Adam really didn’t mind. Noah was awesome to be around. “The more the merrier.”

Blue’s smiled grew bigger. “Good. Things were getting boring in the office anyway.”

Blue was the president and founder of Nurture Nature Inc., a major non-profit organization that advocated for wildlife and forest conservation. They’ve expanded to three more branches in Washington, but Blue chose to stay where she began everything. The executives of the other branches didn’t seem to mind her absence because it meant they could call the shots, but they made sure to still respect her every wish.

“How are the sponsors doing?”

“Same old, same old. Pretending to care about the environment for the sake of their CSR. Of course, a few genuine ones come along every now and then, but it still sucks that we play right into the hands of big corporations and we can’t do anything about it.” Blue put her chin in her hand. “At least we’re genuinely helping.”

“So I’ve heard. Way past tree planting now, right?”

“Yeah. We’re big enough that we get to stop folks from cutting down trees for their own selfish purposes. Backed up by law and everything. I like getting my way with those rich people. Makes me think justice is actually being served.”

“My boss lady always knows how to get things done.”

Noah was suddenly behind Blue, who looked up at him and rolled her eyes. He put up a hand and Adam high-fived him.

“Did you find a place to park?” Blue asked.

“Yeah, just a couple blocks over there. I stayed behind for a bit because I watched this middle-aged lady trying to talk her way out of a ticket.” Noah shook his head and laughed a bit. “So fucking funny.”

The waitress passed by and put down Adam’s order, along with a serving of breadsticks. Adam got a breadstick and waited until Blue and Noah rattled their orders off to the waitress.

“So,” Noah began, getting a breadstick for himself, “how is our bigshot journalist over at Zenith?”

“Yeah, how are you doing there, Adam?” Blue said. “I want to say we hear great things, but Noah and I don’t usually tune into that kind of gossip.”

“Ah, well. Nothing too major. I just finished this big article on Cabeswater. It took me two and a half months though.”

Blue’s eyes went wide. “Jeez. Always knew there was something off about them.”

Chewing on his breadstick, Adam nodded. “That front page thing on the paper tomorrow is mine.”

“ _Front page_?” Noah’s jaw dropped a little. “Congrats, dude! That’s great.”

“I’m already planning for it to be framed and everything,” Blue added, clapping her hands. “You’re a superstar in your own damn right.”

Adam blushed a little. He really didn’t think it was that big of a deal. Roxanne may have praised him for his work earlier today, but his front page deal was probably more like a few sentences of the start of his piece on the corner of the front page, then the rest continued on page eight.

Still, he did need to give himself more credit. At least that’s what a therapist would tell him.

“Remember when Adam used to write those pieces for the society section?” Blue said, and Noah stifled a laugh with his hand. “A whole section on _people with money_. I still can’t believe it exists.”

“Sadly, a significant part of our revenue is because of those people with money wanting to see themselves in the paper. That’s what _really_ makes it for them.”

Blue and Noah laughed even more at this, and Adam joined them a few seconds later.

“Gansey’s been on that section maybe… once or twice, and I always make sure I make fun of him for it,” Blue declared, slicing her chicken.

Adam had known Blue for around four months now, and he still hadn’t met this Gansey fellow. He leaned forward, temporarily abandoning his ravioli.

“You know, I haven’t met your husband,” Adam remarked. “He wasn’t there when we met each other, and I forgot to ask about him when we last saw each other.”

“Oh, Gansey is Gansey,” Blue said fondly, and Noah waggled his eyebrows, as if to say _that’s love for you!_ “He does his own thing at the law firm. Donates to my organization every once in a while. Of course, I’m not about to stop him. His money needs to go _somewhere_ useful.”

“He sounds like a really great guy.”

“Oh, he is,” Noah agreed. “He gives awesome Christmas presents. _And_ he will apologize three times if he thinks he offended you in any way.”

Blue nudged Noah with her elbow. “Noah likes to make a game out of it. I think it’s stupid.”

“I think it’s fun,” Noah countered, and ducked when Blue tried to hit him with a breadstick.

They ate the rest of their meals in good fun, Adam sharing the occasional snippet of his work, Blue and Noah talking about what they do for the world, Noah bringing in a few stories about his family. Adam didn’t think he’d ever laughed so hard in his life. The hours trickled by without any of them noticing.

“Oh man,” Noah said, glancing down at his watch. “It’s almost 4 PM. Blue, we need to get back. I think.”

“Shit, really?” Blue replied, looking down at her own watch. “How’d we miss the time by that much?”

Adam shrugged. “Time flies when you’re having fun.”

This earned a bright grin from Blue. “Definitely. Well, this was really fun. We have to go, but call me if you wanna hang out again! Maybe by then you can meet Gansey.”

Noah stood up and hugged a still-seated Adam, curling his arm around his head. Adam let his head be pressed against Noah’s cotton shirt. “Don’t forget me when you’re famous, dude.”

“Alright, alright, already,” Adam swatted him off, and stood up for a proper hug. “Bye, you guys.”

As soon as he saw Blue and Noah leave the restaurant, Adam sighed. A sigh that he meant no one but himself to hear.

He didn’t know why he suddenly felt lonely.

Huffing, Adam stuffed the feeling down into his chest, and left the restaurant shortly after.

-*-

Adam’s evenings, when a social event or an interview didn’t occupy it, went more or less the same every single time.

First, he put out a bowl of dog food for Stevie. A bowl of the turkey meal and egg formula that a woman he met at the dog park recommended would be set in front of Stevie, along with a separate bowl of water. Adam never forgot to scratch the area behind Stevie’s ears, and Stevie never forgot to bark a thank you.

“You’re such a good boy,” Adam crooned, looking at the way Stevie’s nose shined, the way his ears flopped.

Next, he checked if his supply of TV dinners was running low. This, he knew to be currently true, because he had gone grocery shopping before going home.

If his supply of TV dinners was running low, it meant he needed to try and see if his cooking game was up to any challenges tonight.

“You need to be fed, Adam,” Adam said to himself. His stomach growled in agreement. “Ordering in is for losers.”

Opening up his phone, he pulled up the website of one of his favorite food bloggers, Niall of _Cheap Ways to Be Gourmet in Your 20s_. After deciding on a fairly easy recipe (Niall indicated it only took thirty minutes to make, and _how efficient was that_ ), Adam kept it open on the counter beside him, and set himself to work.

He had come across the food blogger after reading through one of his favorite lifestyle blogs while he was on break at work. Since then, he had been following Niall’s work, having turned on notifications for it and everything. Adam never had hyperfixations, because he knew that having one would take up too much of his precious time, but if he had to point out one of his own, he supposed the closest would be food and lifestyle blogs. He followed a whole array of them, and he never cared if they were famous or if they were people that got around much. What mattered to Adam was how they always took the edge off whenever his work was too tough, each post lightening his load bit by bit and opening his eyes to the world of what was happening outside his work.

Tonight’s dinner was Niall’s recipe for black pepper chicken. The pictures, at the very least, made it look appetizing. Thankfully, it was something Adam had all the ingredients for. Adding some potatoes to make it filling, he tossed everything in the pan and stirred until he was sure it was ready. The smell of it made Adam’s stomach grumble even more.

As Adam stood by the pan, Stevie stalked up to him and wagged his tail. Adam looked down at him and watched him pant happily.

“This is _my_ food, you mutt,” said Adam fondly. “Go sit by the television.”

He turned off the stove, poured the contents of the pan into a bowl, and signaled for Stevie to follow him back into the living room.

The apartment Adam had lived in was half bachelor’s pad, half warm-and-homey display. What surrounded him were spring and autumn shades. Each piece of furniture was chosen specifically because they were unimposing and welcoming. It had taken a lot of work for his place to be that way, with Adam initially unhappy about how _city_ everything had looked.

Shrugging off his slippers, Adam settled himself on his light brown La-Z-Boy. Stevie padded his paws on the floor cushion designated for him, and whined.

“Fine,” Adam gave in, taking a piece of chicken from his bowl. He fed it to Stevie, who munched it off his hand happily. “But only one. I want to eat my fair share tonight.”

After seeing the dog’s reaction to it, Adam stuck his own fork into his bowl and dug in.

“ _Wow_ ,” Adam commented, feeling the flavors and textures on his tongue. He chewed through the chicken, enjoying how soft it was. His potatoes, thankfully, were not overcooked, and worked perfectly with the chicken. “Thank you Mister Niall.”

After a few more moments of being in awe with his culinary skills, Adam reached for the remote control and switched to a channel that was playing a sitcom. Because as it was with any other night, he would eat his dinner while watching something that was a universe away from his job.

Really, it was the only way Adam thought he could live with himself.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ronan’s entire life, professional or personal, can revolve around food.

The commute to Greywaren Coffee, especially this early in the morning, was easy enough that Ronan was almost grateful. Specifically, he was thankful to his past self for situating the café away from the main streets.

It made the place harder to find, but still. Because of their location, it was such a piece of cake to find parking.

Ronan got out of his BMW and locked it. Today, he would be a barista for the café he already owned himself. Tomorrow, he would busy himself with work in the back room, sorting through deliveries and catering requests.

Not like he was needed for any of these jobs. Ronan just didn’t want to go to the other branches of Greywaren Coffee to check in on how they were doing.

Because he could, Ronan went in through the main entrance, not caring about rules he may or may not have previously set up.

“Good morning, people of the world,” Ronan greeted into the café, extra cheery for his four employees: Alex, a curly-haired woman who made a mean cappuccino and knew it; Harley, a lanky brown-haired boy who did all of his best work in the kitchen, specifically when he was cooking up a storm; Owen, a chubby kid who was extremely talented and efficient in baking but inefficient in just about anything else; and Wendy, who wore her hair in braids, wore blue contacts, manned the cash register, and refused to take anyone’s shit.

“Boss,” Wendy greeted back, wiping down a table with a wash cloth. She gave Ronan a salute. “You’re here early. As always.”

“As always,” Ronan echoed, flipping the store’s CLOSED sign to OPEN. Harley’s head popped up behind the cash register.

“Hey, Mister Lynch,” Harley said, waving a hand. “You’re pouring drinks today, right?”

“Yes.” Ronan’s eyes sparkled. Or at least, he felt like they did. He was unusually excited about his shift today. “People’s coffees will be fucking excellent today.”

Walking into the back room, he pointed at Alex and continued, “Which means you will be in charge of inventory today. You know how it goes.”

Alex frowned. She absolutely hated inventory, and Ronan knew that. But she hated being a whiny person even more, so she replied, “Part of the job, so I can’t complain.” She stood up, taking a clipboard off of a shelf. “You should really stop doing regular employee work and start, y’know. Doing your actual boss work.”

Ronan scoffed. For him to go to the places he’d expanded his coffee shop into, it would take a lot of convincing. He just didn’t have the heart to do so.

Frankly, he doesn’t even remember why he’d decided to expand in the first place.

“The branches in Tacoma and Vancouver and—where was it, oh yeah, Bellingham—are doing just _fine_ ,” Ronan said, waving a hand. “And the Bellingham branch is practically _flourishing_ without me! I cannot be more proud. Besides, I call in every now and then. I called in last week, remember?”

Owen came out of the storage room, carrying a bag of flour. He was the youngest of them all, and therefore the politest. On his first week, Ronan took care to check and double-check that he was legal. “You called your mother from here, sir. Neither Madam Mendez nor Mister Hobbs have received a call from you in two months. Also,” Owen coughed, “you, um, hate Mister Jakes’ guts so—”

“Well, Karen Mendez and Timothy Hobbs have good hands to leave a café in,” Ronan cut him off, patting the top of Owen’s head. “As for Landon Jakes… well. He fucking sucks. Hence Bellingham fucking sucks. So we’ll leave it at that.”

Ronan made a mental note to find a reason to fire Landon Jakes. He was just really annoyed by the guy.

Rolling her eyes, Alex put a pen behind her ear. “Two hours to opening. We better hustle.”

Their routine of getting the café together for the breakfast rush always breezily passed by. Ronan hadn’t bothered to put them on a schedule, mostly because he himself wasn’t as organized, but he was secretly glad that Alex had employed one for all of them.

By 7:15 in the morning, all the cakes were in the cold glass display case, and the first set of coffee grounds were ready. Ronan put on his apron and cap, double-checking all the tables to see if they were ready.

By 7:30, Harley had finished prepping for all the meals on the menu. Owen placed the rest of the baked goods in glass display cases: the cookies, the brownies, the smaller buns. Alex got three more clipboards and set herself to work.

By 8, Greywaren Coffee was ready to open.

-*-

“Hi, I’ll have a hot chocolate, two black coffees, a croissant, a blueberry muffin and a breakfast omelet please!”

The blond little girl had a hand up as she peered up at Wendy, and Wendy smiled warmly.

“So much food for just you! Are you here with your parents?”

“Yeah!” The girl pointed to a nearby table, and Wendy waved hi to the parents, who were endeared at their child ordering for them. Wendy was endeared herself.

“How do your parents like your coffee?”

The girl tilted her head to the side. “Mommy likes it with just one sugar, while Daddy likes it with two sugars and cream. Oh, and I like my hot chocolate with whipped cream.”

“Got that. It’ll be 24.50. What’s your name, dearie?”

“Anna.” The girl handed Wendy a fifty, and Wendy gave her the change.

To Ronan, she said, “Two black coffees, one with one sugar and one with two sugars and cream. A hot chocolate with whipped cream. A girl and her parents. I think the girl, Anna, will go crazy if you make the whipped cream fancy.”

“Already on it.” Ronan’s smirk stayed in place the whole time he procured the drinks, setting them down one by one on the tray alongside the food. It took almost no time at all, and Ronan was in an especially good mood today.

Everything fit on one tray, and it was easy to carry overall, but Ronan thought it wouldn’t hurt to be a little sociable.

“Two coffees and a hot chocolate for Anna!” he called out, and grinned when Anna skipped up to him.

“I’m here!” Anna said, waving, and Ronan nodded. He leaned down a little and pointed a thumb to the tray.

“Wanna give me a hand with these? They’re kind of hard to carry all by myself.”

Ronan supposed the lie was worth it for the way Anna’s face brightened, excited with the prospect of helping.

“Here, you can grab the croissant and muffin plate. _There we go_. Nice and easy does it.”

They both made their way to the table, and the parents clapped for Anna when she set down the plates in front of them. Ronan set down the tray with a flourish, putting the breakfast omelet down on the table.

Then, one by one, “Black coffee with one sugar for Mommy, black coffee with two sugars and cream for Daddy, and – last but not least – hot chocolate with whipped cream for Anna.” Ronan held the tray by his side and moved aside to let Anna take her seat. “Enjoy.”

“Thank you, sir…,” the mother said, wrapping her hand around her mug. She squinted at Ronan’s nametag. “Ronan. Have you been working here long?”

 _Longer than I could fucking remember_. “I own the place, ma’am. The franchise in general.”

“Oh?” The father looked up from his croissant with interest. “But why are you—”

“Doing the job of any regular employee? Well,” Ronan replied, putting up a hand to high-five Anna. “I enjoy seeing my customers happy. Being the head doesn’t mean I have to stop doing so.” He gave a little bow. “Enjoy your food.”

Walking away, he smiled a little at Anna’s “The whipped cream is _sooooo pretty_ ”.

Not all customers were this nice, of course. Throughout the day, Ronan dealt with grumpy, disheveled customers who wanted their orders done in two minutes, or customers that took too long to decide and made the customers behind them grumpy and disheveled, or customers that didn’t clean up after themselves when they were done.

Well, this last one wasn’t completely mandatory. Wiping crumbs away was doable. But Ronan was pretty damn sure throwing away tissues and straw wrappers wasn’t so hard.

A smudgy-looking guy came up next in line. Ronan moved up beside Wendy, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Hey, Wendy. Ronan. The usual, please.”

“Noah.” Ronan regarded him, tiptoeing to see if his boss was anywhere in sight. “You alone again today?”

Noah sighed. He fished out a couple of dollar bills and gave them to Wendy. “Yeah. You know how it is. She sends me in here whenever she’s stressed and needs a pick-me-up. Too bad she’s never actually _been_ inside this place.”

“Must be an important gal.”

“Very.”

‘The usual’ for Noah’s boss, whoever she was, was a chai latte and a chocolate donut. One of the weirdest combinations ever, in Ronan’s opinion. Still, she was one of the regulars, so Ronan did not ever want to disappoint.

Besides, once he actually gets to meet this Miss Sargent, Ronan has a hundred and one ways of telling her how he thought she was a weirdo.

“Chai latte and a chocolate donut, coming right up,” Ronan replied. “Does she want the donut—”

“Heated?” Noah nodded. “Yep. She wants it heated today.”

“Bad day, huh?”

“Very. Some corporate lawyer went up into her ass today. She _did not_ enjoy it.”

Ronan scoffed. “Must be one hell of an asshole.”

“It’s part of the job.”

Ronan poured the chai latte into a paper cup, covered it up, and put it into a paper drink sleeve. He finished just as the toaster dinged, signaling that the donut was done and ready to be served.

Serving both with a flourish, Ronan said, “Tell Miss Sargent to try and not be so bitchy on her end, will you?”

Noah laughed. “Thanks, man. She’ll appreciate it.”

-*-

An hour after closing time, Ronan was in the back room, nursing a cup of strong coffee and staring into space. With the troubles of his day job behind him, he considered what his next blog post was going to be about.

See, when Ronan wasn’t working as the head of a coffee shop franchise, he was making waves on the Internet as a food blogger. He had started the blog as a joke, wanting to respond to something he saw on the television about how much money was necessary to eat like royalty. It was absolutely absurd to Ronan, the way some people just threw money at things and didn’t consider how much of it was unnecessarily wasted.

Ronan knew food enough to know that a lot of money wasn’t the key to making it taste good. No, the key was to have a lot of heart and enough skill to work your way around some equipment.

So his initial content centered around mocking upper-class people and providing ways to eat like them but on a budget. It wasn’t hard, seeing as how Ronan was extremely opinionated on either of these aspects. It was made easier because Ronan had a certain eye for flavor that he considered to only be his own.

After the third blog post, Ronan was more than surprised to learn that people actually wanted to see _more_.

Because his actual knowledge went past insulting rich people and being street-smart with money, Ronan began adding recipes to his repertoire, along with reviews of dishes he’d try at restaurants. This made his blog even more of a hit, and now he’d become famous enough that he needed to post at least thrice a week, or people would flood his social with hate comments.

And honestly, Ronan didn’t have the time nor the energy to deal with that bullshit.

Besides, being a food blogger was something he actually enjoyed, so. Having the audience meant that, at least, he was doing something right.

“Hey, Mister Lynch?” Harley said, interrupting Ronan’s thoughts. He shut the storage room. “I’m gonna head out. The others have gone too. Do I need to—”

Ronan waved him off. “No. I’ll close up. Thanks for the hard work, Harley.”

“Oooookay.” Harley nodded, and walked out through the back door.

Once Ronan heard the sound of an engine coming to life, he leaned back into his chair and sighed. Absolutely nothing was coming to mind.

Maybe his phone had a few promising drafts he could edit and upload. Ronan sifted through the notes on his phone, checking to see if there was anything promising.

Tonight, he didn’t need to be super on-point with the content. He just needed to get something out there. Just so he met his own promise of posting thrice a week.

After much contemplation, Ronan settled on a recipe for a three-cheese cauliflower gratin that he had written up while in bed a few weeks ago. It was his mother’s favorite, and, after a few tweaks and a couple of ingredient adjustments, he had gotten it perfect enough that even his brother Matthew could stomach the cauliflower. Ronan remembered the way Declan’s eyes had widened, the way Matthew had asked for seconds, the way his mother clapped happily at the first bite.

It had been a proud moment, but not one that Ronan considered Internet-worthy at the time.

Now, he thought it was okay to post. _Better than nothing_.

After checking for any grammatical errors and weird changes to his normal online tone, he hit send.

Because he was feeling generous, Ronan even composed a Tweet to inform his followers that a post was up. He wasn’t usually this generous with his time and attention, but it didn’t hurt to do something different every once in a while.

Ronan stretched in his seat. He rolled his head and felt the cricks in his neck. Faintly, he felt an ache somewhere in his shoulder.

A long day of pouring drinks didn’t mean he was physically fit. Gansey had suggested exercise. Ronan had merely laughed at him.

 _You already know how to eat healthy_ , Gansey had tried to persuade him. _Why not pair it with some jogging?_

 _Because I would rather die, Gansey,_ Ronan had replied. He put Gansey’s to-go caramel macchiato in his hand. _I would honestly rather die_.

The thought of Gansey reminded Ronan that he hadn’t seen him in so long. Ronan took his phone and typed out a text.

10:13 PM  
_! Dick. You free right now?_

10:14 PM  
_! Come by the coffee shop and the espresso shot’s on me._

-*-

“Jeez, Ronan, you _know_ free caffeine is a lawyer’s temptation,” Gansey said, looking down at his coffee cup. He had arrived half an hour after Ronan texted.

“Yeah, well. I’ve always known what your weaknesses are.”

Gansey nodded, taking a bite of the bun that Ronan had offered. “Ever since law school.”

“You were such a dweeb back then.”

Gansey had stumbled into Greywaren Coffee all those years ago, a thick book in one arm and a big bag in the other. At first glance, Ronan thought of him as just another stressed and tired student; he’s had a lot of those come in already. Little did Ronan know that the seat Gansey found himself in – one beside a socket and a potted plant – would be the seat that Gansey would stay in for the rest of his stay in law school.

If Alex hadn’t pointed out to Ronan that Gansey had been staying in that same table for almost every day of the month that September, they never would’ve met.

“A dweeb that wouldn’t have made it through Seattle U without your help, so. Thank you.”

Ronan shook his head, smiling. He leaned back and put a foot up against the wall.

Gansey put his chin in his hand. It was such a teenage gesture that Ronan almost forgot he was a full-blown lawyer now. “How are things with the shop, Ronan? I hear you’ve expanded.”

“Doing well, obviously. As for the expansions, well… I haven’t been to any of them, but—”

Gansey tilted his head. “Because you’re busy or because you’d rather do anything else?”

When Ronan said nothing, Gansey laughed.

“You can always send Matthew over there to check things out. I know you like this place enough to not want to leave it.”

Ronan shook his head. “Matthew has his own life, doing whatever-the-fuck. I’ll go down there when… when I care enough.” He tilted his chin up towards Gansey’s cup. “How’s the drink?”

The smile on Gansey’s face was brighter than the one light the shop had on. “Delicious. Don’t know how you do it.”

“It’s called _being good at what I do_.”

“Yeah, yeah. No need to be smug.” Gansey took another sip and smacked his lips. “Blue and I should get a cappuccino maker for our house.”

“That would mean you’d stop going here for coffee, so no, I forbid you.”

Gansey put his hands up in mock surrender, and laughed. Then, after he knocked the rest of his drink back, he said, “I saw your latest blog post.”

Ronan nodded, and walked over to retrieve Gansey’s cup. The gratin recipe had done better than Ronan had expected, with the people following his blog absolutely loving that Ronan had given them _such a personal piece of himself_ and that the gratin looked _absolutely marvelous_. ‘Family-oriented’ was something Ronan never expected to be called, but now he’s got at least ten comments saying the very word.

“If it’s something with cheese, people are bound to love it,” Ronan mumbled, wiping up after Gansey’s crumbs quickly and not meeting Gansey’s eyes.

Sighing, Gansey watched as Ronan washed his cup. Then, once Ronan was facing him again, he said, in a softer voice, “You should go and see your family.”

The tone of Ronan’s voice hardened. “I don’t know if they’d even want to see me.”

“Don’t be stupid. Aurora would be glad to see you. Matthew would jump for joy. And as for Declan, well—”

“Exactly.” Ronan pointed a finger at him.

Gansey hummed, tapping his fingers on the wooden countertop. “Maybe he’ll… come around?”

Declan coming around would equate to how impossible it was that pigs would fly. But because Ronan didn’t want to continue this line of conversation anymore, he said, “I’ll think about it.”

It seemed to be good enough for Gansey. “Okay.”

Nodding, Gansey stood up and straightened his suit jacket. Ronan sneaked a look at his watch. It was twenty minutes to midnight.

Ronan moved around the counter and extended his hand. “It was nice seeing you, man.”

Gansey took Ronan’s hand, shook it once, then pulled Ronan into a hug. The shock of it made Ronan a second too late to pull back, and he had no choice but to pat Gansey’s back a few times.

Pulling back, Gansey said, “You’re a good person, Ronan.”

“Cheesy.”

“I mean it,” Gansey replied, patting Ronan’s shoulder once. Halfway out the door, he said, “Good night, Lynch.”

“G’night, Gansey,” Ronan called out, and watched as his friend drove off into the almost-midnight darkness of Seattle.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam pins down Greywaren Coffee as his go-to coffee shop.

For Adam, the first few days of any assignment are the most fun.

It was hours and hours of just getting to know whatever corporate entity he was supposed to investigate. Usually, it was just loading up on information about who the connections of this corporate entity were and what kind of activities they had. If he wanted to have more fun (read: go more in-depth), he would go past the Internet and get access to government documents and court records. He’d read interviews and casually ask around for any gossip just lying around. And as much as he thought necessary, he would also look into people’s personal lives, because he believed that there was almost always something relevant to The Story sitting in people’s homes.

When Adam did research, he turned into a silent, resourceful bloodhound.

A bloodhound so silent and resourceful, in fact, that he tended to forget that he wasn’t superhuman.

“Hey, Adam,” Roxanne said, knocking twice on Adam’s already open door. “You up for a cup of coffee? I know I could use some.”

Adam’s eyes were glued to the screen of his computer. He ignored the slight ache in his lower back. “Mm. Maybe later.”

“You said that two times already.”

“Then you can go ahead and get coffee with Diane. I’ll catch up.”

Roxanne made a noise of disgust. “First of all, you already know I don’t like Diane. She kisses my ass too much. Second of all, I’m your boss, and I’m telling you: you need to take a break.”

Multiple mouse clicks and tabs opening made Adam ignore his superior. The next Internet search, Adam felt, was about to blow his mind. He couldn’t wait for his browser to give him more revelations.

The loading symbol was having him hold his breath. In the last four hours, he’s learned more than enough for a rough outline. Maybe it was even enough for an article skeleton.

He heard faint heels click against his floor. “Adam Parrish. I’m not going to ask again.”

Adam sighed. Looking up, he felt a crick in his neck, and ignored the dull throb. “Sorry. You know how I— this— gets.”

The longest Adam has been on a research binge was nine whole hours. It was about a rigged election, and the twists and turns of how it was done had kept Adam running on nothing but adrenaline. He had been jolted out of it by a bag of takeout food tossed into his face. Diane, his co-writer on that assignment, had rolled her eyes and walked away.

“Yeah, yeah. You overdo it and think it’s still not enough. Makes you one of the best around here. Which is _why_ I can’t afford to have you be burnt out and quitting on me.” Roxanne crossed her arms. “There aren’t enough shitty writers here to make up for half of your hypothetical absence.”

That struck a chord in Adam’s chest. “Aw, Roxanne, that’s actually the sweetest—”

“Don’t let it go to your head, mister.” Tossing keys on the table, Roxanne turned around and began to walk away. “You’re driving.”

Adam smiled. “Sure thing, boss.”

-*-

“That coffee shop wasn’t among Caleb’s bad ideas, huh?”

They were driving away from some place called the Brew & Chew Café, a ten-minute drive away from the Zenith Observer. Caleb, both a weatherman and foodie, had been prattling on about their almond croissant for half a week now.

Adam shrugged. His coffee sat in the drink compartment beside him. He purposefully ignored Roxanne’s extended hand with an offered piece of almond croissant in it. “It was worth experiencing for the first time.”

“You’re too scarce with compliments, Adam.”

“It only means I’ve got standards.”

Still, Adam did have to admit that his coffee order, all the details specified to within an inch of their life, had been almost perfected by the woman barista. That wasn’t something that happened every day. His first sip had tiptoed the line between majestic and… well, just okay.

So, in short, it was a pretty great drink.

Roxanne reached over to lightly flick the side of Adam’s head. “No one, and I mean _no one_ , can hope to even understand your coffee order, or even why it’s that complex. I felt like the barista’s eyes earlier were wide enough to swallow you whole.”

“You tried my drink. You know how good it tastes.”

“And yet I prefer my simple iced coffee. Life’s too short to be shortening other people’s lives by saying a coffee order that long, anyway.”

Making a face, Adam made a left turn. “Cold coffee is an insult to all of coffee. Why in the ever-loving hell would anyone want it _cold_?”

“To match the ice that already resides in our hearts?”

“That doesn’t even make any sense.”

The Zenith Observer building front was glass panels and a light silver exterior. Directly on top of the entrance, the newspaper’s logo stood beside its name, equal parts declarative and unaware of its power. The coffee cart guy (which Adam had befriended on his first day here) was a few feet away from the nearby ATM.

Walking by, Adam fondly recalled how Fred had only ever been the one to truly master how his coffee order went. He waved at the freckled man, and walked inside the building right after Roxanne did.

Work wasn’t over for another three hours, so Adam spent one more hour looking into his assignment. J&C National Bank wasn’t a giant easily felled, and its reputation for security and reliability was big enough that even Adam had considered getting the loan for his car from there. He had co-workers who would bring out their J&C debit cards for every single purchase and not have even one bill or coin in their wallets. The digital money craze, Adam felt, was something he would never truly understand, as he had lived too much of his life wanting enough money _in general_ that he couldn’t stand to not physically hold it on a regular basis.

Eventually, the drone of researching went to his head. After making one last bookmark, Adam leaned back and did a stretch good enough that it almost made him groan. He slowly blinked through his fatigue, and let the last rays of the afternoon sun wash over his office.

A notification from his phone pinged him out of his daze. He shook his head, straightened up in his chair, and leaned forward a little to look.

It was an update from one of his favorite food bloggers, Niall Lynch. The post was apparently a review of one of the restaurants downtown, a place called The Pepper Bistro. Adam wrinkled his nose at the name.

“Spicy food does _not_ cut it for me,” he mumbled, but clicked on the notification anyway.

It was as if Niall’s words were more than enough to melt away all of Adam’s fatigue from the day. Not that Niall sounded like he ever enjoyed something he reviewed, no. What sold Adam on his reviews – and his blog posts in general – was the mere fact that he knew he could trust that whoever was behind this blog, no matter how much of an asshole he seemed to forward himself as, was a hundred and one percent _real_.

It was stupid, really. How could a person Adam had never even met before have this much of an effect on him?

He was halfway through the part of Niall’s review that was about the medium-rare steak when a jolt of light came from above.

Looking up with one eye closed, Adam saw Diane by his office door. Her finger was on the office light switch.

“Hey,” Diane said, and Adam blinked rapidly to adjust to the light. He didn’t remember his office light being _this_ bright. “Roxanne sent me here to tell you to go home.”

“Is it _that_ late?”

Diane laughed, and Adam would’ve taken it as mean if he didn’t know how Diane’s _mean_ really was. Deep down, there was a niceness to her that only a few – Adam included – got to ever experience. She sneaked a look at her watch, then shrugged.

“No, but it would’ve been, if I wasn’t here to shake you out of your junkie journalism.”

“Not my fault you don’t enjoy the job as much as I do, Diane.”

“Not my fault you get high on the job like a freak, Adam.”

A wrapped sandwich landed on top of Adam’s notebook, which was beside his framed photo of Stevie. Adam didn’t have to think twice about what it was. From all the years that he and Diane had been co-workers, he was smart enough to know that it was his favorite – roasted chicken and pesto.

“You know, even if you don’t like showing it, you really are nice sometimes, Diane,” Adam said gratefully, reaching over to take the sandwich. “Thank you.”

Turning on her heel, Diane tapped her manicured fingernails against the door. “Be lucky I’m not on my period, Parrish.”

Adam thought he saw a ghost of a smile on Diane’s face right before she left.

-*-

The life of a journalist, Adam sometimes thought, was a life that always, always ran on shared time. Current events weren’t going to wait on him to finish breakfast and head right out the door. Talks behind closed doors were not going to adjust to his schedule. Calamities and tragedies were not going consider how his alarm clock was around half an hour from going off.

Even though he had already given most of himself to this reality, he sometimes sincerely hoped that he had a little leeway to at least make sure he was getting to places alright.

A few weeks into his assignment, and last night was the first time Adam let himself think the one thing he never allowed himself to think: he was _stuck_. There were no angles to his story that seemed promising or interesting, and he had done enough research that he almost felt like he was back in college.

This morning was one of those mornings where Adam was tired enough to be disoriented. Half-asleep, he stumbled inside what he thought was a coffee shop. Adam did the first thing anybody sensible enough would do to check – he inhaled deeply, and checked for the smell of roasted coffee.

It was good enough to almost send him into a daze.

Adam opened his eyes, and barely avoided verbalizing his feeling of disappointment. It didn’t look like the Brew and Chew Café, nor did it seem to be on the same level as the Brew and Chew Café. He spun around and checked for his car, which was (thankfully) parked properly enough that he won’t be ticketed.

“Morning,” the woman by the cash register greeted, her hand raised. Adam merely blinked at her. “What’ll it be?”

“Uh,” Adam got out, at a loss for words. He looked to the left, to the right, then back at the woman. Dumbly, he asked, “Is this the Brew and Chew Café?”

Slowly, the woman put a hand on her waist, and another to her mouth. Before Adam could say anything else, the woman snorted into her hand.

“Oh, _Christ_ , will Ronan get a laugh at this one. Too bad he's not here,” she said, shaking her head. Then, realizing Adam was still there, “No, sorry. It’s around the corner a block from here. Have a good day.”

_Another_ block? Adam would rather embarrass himself all over again. He shook his head, and stepped up to the counter. “No, this place will have to do, I guess. Sorry about that.”

Adam was about to add another thought to his sentence, his order maybe, but was stopped by a huge yawn, coming up from the depths of his chest. He remembered his manners enough to cover his mouth. Tears formed around the corners of his eyes.

The woman shot him a look of concern. “Whoa there. Sorry for laughing, mister. You must be really out of it.”

“Well. It’s part of the job.”

“You’re on your way to work?”

Adam nodded. He had another long day of work ahead of him, and he didn’t expect himself to end this day until he at least met two of his work goals. Never mind meeting his deadline that was in three weeks. He needed to finish this assignment before it finished him.

The woman hummed. “I think I know just the thing you need.”

She punched a few things into the cash register, pointedly ignoring the weakly protest in Adam’s face. “You don’t even know my order yet.”

“Trust me, sir. After this, you won’t _ever_ need another one of those coffee orders longer than a leap year.”

And if Adam showed any signs of agreeing, he didn’t know. What he _did_ know was that he had enough energy to take out his wallet, fish out a twenty-dollar bill, and move to the nearest seat he could see that was near an outlet.

He was so fucking tired. His senses were dulled enough that he could only hear part of what a little boy was screaming to his father, that he could only feel the whirr of the air-conditioning against his neck. Sighing deeply, Adam slumped forward into his seat and tried his best to stay awake.

A hand on his left shoulder made him jump a little. “Sir?”

It was the woman from the counter, lightly placing a mug in front of him. She held up a plate with a pastry on it.

“Here’s your change, too. Drink up.” She left the money beside the mug, set down the pastry, and walked back to the counter.

_Well_. Adam’s mind was a doozy. The smells from the food in front of him were slowly reviving him. _Let’s see how this is_. He took the mug, blew on the drink a little, and sipped.

“ _God_.” It was rich, nutty, and the bitterness wasn’t fighting with the sweetness. Warmth traveled through his throat, went down to his chest, and landed in his stomach. Adam quickly took another sip, careful not to burn his tongue.

It was, quite possibly, the best coffee he’s ever had.

The pastry the woman got for him was a croissant with a red-purple center. Raspberry, probably.

Adam took a small piece, and closed his eyes as he chewed. The crisp flakiness of the pastry went really well with the raspberry. He mentally noted how it was warm too, probably fresh from the toaster.

A few more bites and gulps, and Adam felt more like himself. Carefully pushing the mug and plate a little forward, he moved to get his laptop and placed it in front of him.

“Oh—” Realizing he forgot to ask for the password, Adam stood up. And he _was_ about to walk back to the counter and ask, if not for noticing the scrawl on his receipt.

_password : dreamsareawesome1_

Slowly, Adam sank back down into his seat. “How did they—”

The woman at the counter seemed to notice Adam’s movements. When Adam caught her eye, she gave him a wink.

“Thank you,” Adam mouthed, smiling back despite himself, and booted up his laptop.

-*-

It became three straight days of Adam going into Greywaren Coffee, and on the succeeding days, he resolved to try something new from the menu.

The day after his initial discovery of the coffee shop, Adam ordered a breakfast special and a latte. It wasn’t something he’d usually get for himself, since he wasn’t a something-and-eggs kind of guy and he had stuck to his coffee order for almost all his life. Still, the sausages and eggs were heaven in his mouth, and Adam realized he actually quite liked the feel and taste of a latte if he only had it every once in a while.

After the second day, Adam had a feeling he was never going to another coffee shop ever again.

On the third day, Adam went in the afternoon, right after a memo on his desk had advised him to be out for an hour due to pest control. Since he was still a little full from his chicken breast and salad lunch, he got himself a slice of pecan pie and a mug of hot tea.

“Holy crap, that’s awesome,” Adam said, almost too loud, chewing his bite of pecan pie slowly and thoroughly. A few seconds later, he shot a sheepish look at the mother who glared at him from a few tables away.

Ever since he’s entered this place, his assignment had progressed very well. Research had led to more leads, which had led to more pieces for his skeleton article. While it wasn’t going along as fast as he had hoped, he was getting there, and it was a nice feeling.

Adam had already pitched three different angles to Roxanne this morning, and she had told him she’d get back to him after this afternoon’s pest control situation.

This meant that, for the first time in weeks, Adam had a spot of free time from work.

He clicked to open a new tab, and found himself back on Niall Lynch’s blog. _The Barns_ stood out in huge block letters. The red-and-white exterior of the home page loaded, and Adam saw that, as he already knew, there were no new posts.

Well, that wasn’t going to be a problem. Adam was just going to read something he already has.

_Cheesecake – everybody loves them, but not everybody knows just how effortless it is to make it good. I heard from a few of my colleagues that cheesecake was typically seen as a boujee dish, one that was only served in hotel buffets and wedding receptions._

_What did I do, you ask? I laughed at this idea._

_I’m not so big on desserts myself, but even a person with half my damn talent can whip up some nice homemade cheesecake in under two hours. Because I’m nice, I’m going to give you the recipe my mom handed down to me for mini turtle cheesecakes. These are such a treat to have around, especially whenever the Lynches come over. My little cousins go nuts (haha, pun intended, because there_ will _be nuts in this recipe, and yes, you should close this tab now if you’re allergic) over these._

_And because I’m extra nice, here’s a picture of what you can anticipate it to look like_.

Even though Adam had already seen this picture several times, he still stopped to admire it. The mini cheesecakes, wrapped in white muffin cups, were stacked on top of one another. The top cheesecake held the toppings proudly – some ganache, half a pecan, and a sprinkle of mini chocolate chips.

As if he hadn’t read it thrice before, Adam scrolled down to read the recipe. The way the instructions were worded made it seem as if Niall was a person that was easily knowable, the type whose honesty would make any person backtrack twice. The snark, as always, was as evident as the care that went into being detailed with the directions.

Even though Adam didn’t know how to cook (or at least, didn’t know how to cook _creatively_ – he knew his way around a stove), he still enjoyed seeing whatever dish come to life in his mind by reading through Niall’s posts. Of course, Niall made it a point to keep the swearing off of the instructions, probably for easier following, but the rest of his personality was still interwoven into each step.

It made a small part of Adam want to meet him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ronan gets a call from Declan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here I am, back with another chapter! It makes me sad, being this bad at chaptered fics, but I promise to do my best and update more often!

“I have always loved nature,” Aurora mused, walking through her backyard garden. She put her hands gently on a morning glory, the greenness of it contrasting with her pale fingers. “It always made me feel more alive.”

Ronan, trudging up behind her, put his hands in his pockets. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, taking in the smells of the plants around. The morning glory his mother touched seemed to want more of her touch, moving slightly forward when her hand moved away.

It’s been almost a week since Ronan was last at Greywaren Coffee, and after the first two days of thinking he should get back and help out, he’s already gotten rid of his unnecessary worries. The texts from Wendy and Owen ( _Boss, we got this, don't worry your pretty ass anymore_ ) certainly helped. And with a tiny bit of effort, he managed to ignore Alex’s insisting that he visit the Vancouver branch while he was already there.

“I feel the same about food,” Ronan replied, rolling his shoulders back. The birds above them twittered amongst each other. “Sometimes I think it’s the only thing in my life that’s keeping me sane.”

“At least you have that going for you. I’m proud of you, dear.”

Initially, Matthew had wanted to come along when Ronan said he was going to visit their mother, but Ronan said he needed this visit to be one-on-one. Matthew had It was only a matter of getting around to actually asking the questions he wanted to ask.

“How is that coffee shop of yours?”

“Fine, Mom. In case you actually forgot, there’s a Vancouver branch half an hour away from here.”

“You know I’m not the type to go out and leave the house.”

“Mmm.”

“It’s a shame that your coffee shop doesn’t do deliveries.”

A delivery mechanism was on Ronan’s list of potential developments to be done by the end of the year. Of course, most of the things on that list were developments carried over from the past year. Leave it to Ronan to actually keep wanting to get stuff done, but never get around to actually getting stuff done.

“We'll get to delivering when we get there," Ronan replied, scratching his head. "I’m still on that blogging, um. Thing.” Words were a struggle for Ronan, but Aurora was nice enough to wait for him to get his thoughts together. “I posted your mini turtle cheesecake recipe, actually. A couple of months back.”

Aurora visibly brightened. She softly nudged Ronan with her elbow. “And how did your fans take it?”

The emphasis on fans was put with a sense of pride that Ronan heard. Even that was enough to make Ronan smile a bit (and _maybe_ blush).

“Well enough. Although I did get some heat for not posting an alternative for those allergic to nuts.”

Throughout the years, Ronan had gotten better at taking criticism, both for his blog posts and his café. He had also gotten better at responding to his harsher critics, opting for either silence or a clipped “Thank you for your input”. Every day, he was a little grateful that his fans outnumbered his haters, but he had to give it to some of his fault-finders – a lot of Greywaren Coffee’s successes were due to their pointed comments.

The backyard garden was a bit bigger than most backyard gardens, with Aurora taking great care to water her plants according to a schedule. When they were kids, all three Lynch brothers used to help out with maintaining the garden, taking turns to pull out weeds and put in fertilizer and pick fruits from Aurora’s apple and lemon trees.

Without meaning to, Ronan bumped into his mother's back. Aurora suddenly turned around and, tilting her head to one side, said, "So were you going to ask me anything, or was this just meant to be a loving visit from a loving son?"

Ronan couldn't avoid his mother's knowing eyes, his mother's gentle teasing smile. He stiffened as he said, "Can't a guy go to his mother whenever he's feeling directionless and lost?"

"Oh, but he _can_. It's just that you haven't brought up why yet."

"Well, maybe I'm building up to it, okay?"

Aurora laughed lightly, and put her arm around Ronan's. As Ronan visibly relaxed, he did his best to form words for what he was feeling.

"I was thinking of... I don't know. Seeing if Declan would be willing to talk to me again. Actually, I was kind of hoping to run into him during my visit to you today, but life's a bitch and therefore doesn't work like that. Don't get me wrong, Mom, I love that I got to see you today, but... I'd be lying if I said it was without other intentions. I know it's been— it's been years since we last saw each other, and I know the whole fight is the latest thing on both our minds, but handling this food business gives me sappy ideas about the importance of family and I'd really rather be okay with him than not be okay with him before I die."

Out of breath from his emotional monologue, Ronan paused and placed his hand around a tree branch, bending it ever so slightly that a few leaves fell to the ground. When he opened his eyes, he saw Aurora looking back at him with a mix of fondness and amusement.

"Sorry for the cussing." Ronan was suddenly very aware of himself. "And the... honesty. But... you got all that, right—”

"My dear, sweet Ronan," Aurora murmured, reaching out to take Ronan's hand. "Of course Declan would be willing to see you." Then, as if reconsidering it, she added, "Well. Maybe you should call ahead instead of going there spontaneously. Just to be sure. You and I both know how he gets."

Ronan nodded. In all the years that he's known his older brother, he knew that the one thing Declan hated more than anything was surprises. In fact, he hated three specific things: organizing a surprise for someone else, being the recipient of any surprise ever, and any possible justification made for a surprise to be acceptable ( _If it was for someone's birthday_ , Declan once said, _just give them a cake and a gift and be done with it!_ ).

"And if he gets difficult," at _difficult,_ Aurora arched her eyebrow and made her _if you know you know_ face, "just make sure to tell me. I know how to set my son straight."

“Okay. But what if—”

Aurora shushed Ronan and planted a kiss on his cheek. Lightly, she tugged on his arm. "Come. Tell me about the food in your coffee shop, and I might just pass by the Vancouver branch."

Ronan smiled a little, and let himself be dragged along the rest of his mother's garden. He didn't think it was possible for him to love another woman more.

-*-

“So this event of yours. Is it going to be some big, televised affair that aims to make your organization look good?”

Ronan was on the phone with someone named Noah, who had called about a fundraising event that was happening in two weeks. They had requested for light dessert catering, and when Ronan asked for the specifics, Noah said all they really needed were some pastries for the guests to munch on as they went around, but also _a cake would be lovely, maybe one of those small to medium-sized ones?_

Doable in the time given to them, but Ronan had never catered for an event this big. He had never catered for anyone _in general_. He didn’t want to admit it to anyone just yet, but he was a tad bit nervous at accepting this job.

But deep down, he knew he’d regret it if he didn’t accept it.

“It won’t be televised, sir,” Noah replied, and Ronan thought he could hear a smile on the man’s face. “My boss doesn’t take too well to those who assume that she does what she does to "look good", as you put it.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll take that. But I’m sure you understand my skepticism. Big, bad corporations and all. What was the name of your organization again?”

“Nurture Nature, Inc.” Ronan nodded as he wrote it down. Noah’s voice sounded proud and accomplished. “We advocate for wildlife and forest conservation.”

“I see. That’s sick. Save the turtles. How many people are you guys expecting?”

Noah hummed. “About two hundred? Give or take. Because we’re taking into account the organization members, the members of our partner organizations, the investors, and their plus-ones.”

Which meant Ronan would have to do at least two varieties of dessert, along with the cake. Still quite a bit of work, but at least it wasn’t as large-scale as he was expecting, so that was a small relief.

“Okay. Does your boss have any specifications for the desserts? I personally already have a few ideas, but if there are any allergy restrictions I have to look out for, I’d have to know.”

“My boss told me, and I quote, “Go crazy. We just want to feed people here.”” Ronan laughed and Noah followed shortly, the tone of Noah’s impersonation too amusing to be left ignored.

“That’s good to hear. Uh, well, I guess I’ll type up a menu of options for you to choose from then get back to you. As for the cake, I’m assuming it can be anything as long as it goes by the theme?”

Noah’s tone sounded happy. “Yes, I’m sure my boss would appreciate that.”

“Alright. Let me just get your email, and then I’ll make sure to be in touch.”

“Great.” As Noah spelled out their company email for him, Ronan felt a surge of pride in himself. Greywaren Coffee had been just a teeny dream all those years ago, fueled by the fact that his late father had a passion for food unrivalled by anyone that Ronan knew. It was partially the reason why his food blog had Niall on it instead of his own name – in a way, Ronan wanted to do what he did while honoring the memory of the man that served as his biggest inspiration.

“Take care, thanks.” Ronan hung up the phone, and leaned back on his seat. Owen came into the room, and raised an eyebrow at Ronan’s satisfied smirk.

“Anything good, boss?” Owen asked, putting back the measuring cups in his hand.

“Yeah, man. We’ve got a catering job. Tell the others. I’ll fix up the details in a little bit. But the short of it is, we’re _fucking catering_ , Owen.” Ronan felt like there was a fire in his chest, spreading throughout his whole system.

Owen howled with joy. Then he said, “ _Wow_. Boss, that’s huge! We’re going places. We are going _places_. I can’t wait. When will it be?”

“Two weeks from now. We’ll be wearing suits, Owen. Apparently it’s some fancy fundraiser.”

“ _Nice_. I’ll go tell the others.”

As Owen left the storage room, a skip in his step, Ronan’s phone, which was face-down on the table, vibrated. Ronan picked it up without looking at the caller ID.

“Go for Ronan.”

“Go for Ronan? I—Jesus Christ. Ronan, it’s Declan.”

Ronan felt his blood freeze over. It was Declan, Declan who was calling him, not the other way around. He was working himself up to the task too – he was going to call him as soon as the coffee shop closed for the day, and he was going to make amends. On his terms.

Well. Looks like he can’t do that now.

“D-Declan. Haha. What a surprise. I was meaning to call.”

On the other end, Declan’s voice sounded a little winded. But if there was anything Declan had, it was his ability to stay and sound composed. “I figured. But then I know how you operate.”

“Really? And how’s that?”

“You’d put this off until you forgot about it, and then it would remain unresolved for at least another six months.”

Ronan inhaled sharply, and pinched the bridge of his nose. Now was not the time to be difficult. Even though Declan was an asshole on a regular basis, he also called first, which was unbecoming of him.

"I'm going to choose to ignore that obviously wrong statement, thank you. What do you want?"

Declan sighed. "Look, Ronan, I know— I know things between us aren't perfect, and I know the last time we even exchanged words was four years ago, but I think it's about damn time we bury the hatchet. Don't you?"

Blinking a few times, Ronan processed what Declan just said. A few seconds after, he replied, "Yeah. I was just talking to Mom the other day about it too. Was she the one who talked to you?"

A beat of silence followed. Before Ronan was able to break it, Declan said, "No, actually. It was Matthew."

Even that was a shock for Ronan. Matthew rarely intervened when it came to anything, and was pretty much non-confrontational about everything ever. His biggest anger issue was regarding the need to eat vegetables, and that was back when he was a kid. Hearing this now, Ronan got the feeling that maybe his cold war with Declan was intense enough for Matthew to have a reaction.

"Matthew," Ronan said slowly. "What did he say?"

"Nothing much, just that he missed the three of us being able to hang out."

Ronan felt a painful stab at his chest. "Christ. Kid's going to put us two at an emotional crossroad."

Declan's laugh came out as a cough, like he was surprised by it himself. "Yeah. Can't help but give him what he wants, you know? And um. Well. I _do_ miss being able to call you out on your stupidity."

The grin on Ronan's face was big enough that he couldn't even feel his face right now. "And I _do_ miss proving that you're a big wuss who can't seem to have fun."

"I'm so going to tell Mom you're being impossible."

"When I talked to her a few days ago, she said she'd set you straight."

"Favoritism much. The woman has always had you over me, any day of the week."

And Ronan just sat there, shaking his head and snickering as he and Declan went back and forth on their (mostly) harmless sibling banter. He thought about how long it actually had been, and how long it would've been if neither of them had done anything.

Gansey had been right. But Ronan was going to keep that one to himself for another day.

"And, uh, I just wanted to say I'm sorry," Declan said, his voice growing a bit more serious. Ronan, who had been laughing a minute before, suddenly went quiet. "For blaming you for Dad's death. I realize that your childhood wasn't the best one, growing up without spending enough time with Dad, and all I did was to add to that."

Niall Lynch had died in a car crash, back when Ronan and Declan were just kids and Matthew was just a baby. Ronan doesn't remember a lot of it. He just remembers crying really hard and repeatedly asking Aurora _why is there so much blood_ and _will Daddy be okay_ and _I'm sorry Mommy, I'm sorry, it's my fault_. Most of all, he remembers Declan repeatedly instilling in him that if it weren't for Ronan, who had been with them in the car at the time, their father would be alive.

It was the root of every single conflict they had growing up.

Swallowing the thickness in his throat, Ronan nodded. "Yeah, yeah. I was too young to understand why you were so mad, but I get it now. You were just angry and you miss him and it was-- it was wrong for you to take it out on me. I miss him too, you know. A lot. Sometimes, I wonder what life would be like if he were still here. If he were still here to see you, an accomplished political analyst, and me, the owner of a franchise, and Matthew, off to graduation in a few months, and Mom, part-time interior designer and full-time loving mother."

"He would've been so proud of all of us, man."

Ronan did his best to blink away the few tears his eyes had to spare. "Yeah, I— I guess he would've."

"Truce?"

And Ronan didn't think it was possible, but Declan's voice sounded so sad and hopeful at the same time. He felt like his heart broke a little. He and Declan were never the type to hash things out for way too long, so he was a little glad he didn’t have to go so deep into it with him right now.

"Yeah, man," Ronan said, and exhaled a little. He felt like he let go of more than just forgiveness. "We're good."

"Great." Declan's voice was still its usual stony tone, but Ronan heard the relief in it anyway. "Church and lunch with Matthew and me next week? My treat."

" _Of course_ it's going to be your damn treat. You're richer than me."

"Numbnut." Ronan could hear Declan smiling. "You say that now and yet you've got coffee shop branches all over the place."

"I'm not going to pull strings for dessert, if that's what you're asking." Even as Ronan said this now, he knew that he definitely would, because Matthew loved the shop’s apple pie, and Declan was a different person when he had Greywaren Coffee's cappuccino.

"Whatever. I'll text you. Gotta go now."

"Okay. Bye, loser."

"Asshat." And the line went dead, but Ronan felt very much alive.


End file.
